


In My Last Breath

by newlegend



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newlegend/pseuds/newlegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will and Hannibal were told to conduct house-to-house interviews, they had thought they were in for an easy afternoon. They hadn't considered the man with a shotgun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Last Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr 
> 
> anon asked: for the prompt thing could you maybe write hannigram with "Please, put it DOWN." and "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

It was just supposed to be a routine house interview.

Women of all races and religions, colors and cultures, were being murdered in Baltimore. The killer was inelegant in his approach, deciding that the quantity of victims was more important than the quality of his work. Not that Will Graham cared about the quality, right? He was looking to catch the guy who had already taken the lives of twenty five women.

Still, it was a disgusting feeling getting out of that particular killer's head. There was more blood in that guy's head than at the crime scenes he had left behind. Which was really saying something considering he had completely drained his victims of their blood, and then smeared it on every surface.

Ugly crime scenes aside, the killer was organized. No footprints, no DNA at the scene or under the nails of the women he'd killed.

With Will's empathetic profile, and a pretty good idea of where the killer might be located based on where the twenty five bodies were discovered, Jack decided to send his team out to do house-to-house interviews. Maybe the guy killed close to home. Maybe the people in the neighborhood had seen something suspicious.

Jack had decided that it would be best if Will conducted the interviews with Hannibal, and Will had most certainly not objected. As soon as Hannibal had finished up with his patients that afternoon, the pair of them set out, Will fidgeting slightly as he drove. Not about the fact that they might find their killer (which was unlikely, though he did have his gun with him), but the fact that he would have to be very social. That was probably another reason why Jack had asked Hannibal to tag along. Not only did the man keep Will calm, but conversation was a breeze to a socialite like him. 

"Feeling nervous, Will?" Hannibal asked, and Will could practically hear the teasing smile that had to be on the man's face. Glancing over to confirm his suspicion, Will laughed.

He didn't focus on the fact that he knew Hannibal well enough that he could tell when he was being joked with. He didn't focus on the fact that he was actually laughing, or the fact that he only seemed to laugh in the presence of either Hannibal Lecter or Beverly Katz.

"I'm pretty sure I'm about to do more socializing today than I do in a month." Will admitted, the remnants of a smile still lingering on his face.

Hannibal chuckled as Will pulled them up to the first house. Will prided himself silently on being able to make Hannibal laugh in the first place.

An hour of talking to neighbors gave them no new information, but Will found himself happy to be doing to job anyway. It gave him an opportunity to stand much closer to Hannibal than normal. At the last few houses, as they stood waiting on the porch, Will allowed his arm to brush against Hannibal's and told himself that he wasn't imagining the small smile that graced the psychiatrist's face. 

As they moved to a house at the end of the road, Will became aware that something was different. There were no lights on inside, but the person who resided there had to be home. There was a car in the driveway, after all. 

Will knocked politely on the door, Hannibal at his side, when he saw the almost unnoticeable speck of red on door, as if someone had left it there while leaning on the wood to catch their breath. 

Hannibal must have seen Will stiffen, because a few moments later, Will felt the psychiatrist's hand against his back. Will, who normally didn't like being in contact with _anyone_ leaned into the touch.

"What's wrong, Will?" Hannibal asked softly as they heard footsteps coming to the door. Someone was inside, despite the lack of lights.

"Be careful," Will murmured, the door opening before he could warn Hannibal further.

The man who opened the door was dressed simply enough in jeans and a blue T-shirt. He was the epitome of average, with his brown hair, his tired face, and wasn't surprised that no one had been able to identity anyone in their neighborhood behaving strangely. This man wasn't strange, he was invisible. He had to be in his late fifties, but Will could see the muscles in his arms, and came to the conclusion that he would certainly be strong enough to bleed a young woman dry.

"Can I help you two?" He asked, his voice giving nothing away.

Will didn't miss the way the man (they soon found out that his name was Michael Tyron) stiffened when he announced that they were with the FBI. He also didn't miss the way the man had to fight the smile off his face when Will described the fate of the girls.

"If you know anything," Hannibal asked calmly. "Please do let us know."

Hannibal hadn't changed his expression or his posture after talking with the man, but Will knew that meant nothing. Hannibal was very good at hiding his thoughts.

"Can we come in, Mr. Tyron?" Will asked suddenly, causing both of the other men to look at him, Hannibal pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Will had hardly spoken to anyone previous to Tyron's house, and he certainly hadn't asked to be let in. That, plus his unfortunately ambiguous warning to Hannibal earlier, made it incredibly clear that something was going on.

Tyron was transparent to Will, who could easily slip into his mind and put a face to the killer that had been eluding him. He just needed to find the evidence to support him.

"Um, yeah." Tyron said, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. But he knew how it would look if he said no to FBI Special Agent Will Graham. "Please, come in."

Without another word, he turned into the house. Will followed him, looking around, ready to grab his gun if he needed to.

He hadn't counted on Tyron standing there waiting, shotgun in hand.

"Don't think about grabbing your firearm, Agent Graham, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." It struck Will how much calmer Tyron was when he was free to bare who he was before them. With a gun in his hand, it seemed, and he was more than happy to show him and Hannibal just how dangerous he could be.

Will wondered if he had been just as transparent to Tyron as Tyron had been to him. Not that it mattered anymore.

"Please, I want the pair of you to place your weapons and cell phones on the floor, and then kick them over to me." He said, a hint of a smile twisting his features.

If Will tried to grab his gun, he would get shot before he could hope to pull the trigger.

_Hannibal could get shot._

That thought alone was enough for Will to relinquish his gun and his phone, kicking it over to Tyron. Hannibal gently passed his cell phone over to Tyron. After he checked quickly that they hadn't sent any texts or calls about him, he grabbed the phones and Will's gun, setting them away, keeping the gun pointed securely over Will's chest.

"Michael, put it down," Will said gently, his hands up, palms out open to show his compliance. "Please, put it _down_. We can talk this out." He didn't want anything to happen to Hannibal or him, so he had to appeal to Tyron. 

_Empathize._

"I know you, Michael," Will continued, allowing himself to get into the man's head. "I know that you hate pretending to be so small and insignificant. I know you kill these women to show how strong you are, to show you ruthless you are. I know that you grew up invisible, and I know that you hated it-"

"You don't know _anything_!" Tyron shouted, his finger twitching over the trigger. "You don't know what it's like having no one. You don't know what it's like to be invisible."

"I do, Michael," Will said, his heart hammering in his chest. "I know exactly what it's like. And I know that it feels so good to be seen, so good that it's almost addicting after being alone for so long." It was very difficult for Will not to look at Hannibal. "But killing people won't make people see you. If you just put the gun down, I promise, everyone will know your name."

Will could see Tyron's hands trembling. He could see the tears that had started to fall down the killer's face.

He heard the gunshot, but he didn't feel anything until he was laying on his back, blood seeping from a wound in his chest.  
Hannibal had shouted Will's name, but Will could hardly move, could scarcely breathe. His hands shook violently as he tried to apply pressure to the wound, but blood just kept seeping through his fingertips.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Hannibal was moving, that Tyron was dropping the gun. After all, he'd just shot the only person to _understand_ him.

He heard the sickening sound of bones breaking. It registered to him later that it was Tyron's neck being broken, being broken by Hannibal. And then the psychiatrist was there with Will, blood staining his expensive suit. Will almost apologized, but only managed a weak choking sound.

"Will, stay with me," Hannibal said softly, and it occurred to Will that Hannibal was _pleading_ with him. The man who seemed to have endless patience, endless knowledge. The man who had broken down Will's forts in a way that made Will only too happy to surrender. The man who was always so poised and pristine and calm.

He certainly wasn't calm at that moment.

Hannibal's bangs were falling over his forehead, and Will vaguely noted how beautiful he looked that way. His movements, always so graceful and thoughtful, were rushed at that moment as he situated himself on the ground behind Will, pulling the empath's back against his chest, his careful, surgeon's hands applying pressure to the wound. His breath was warm against the back of Will's neck, and Will hoped he wasn't imagining it when he felt the psychiatrist press a kiss to his hair. 

"It's okay Will, I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Michael Tyron was dead. Will was pleased. No more messy crime scenes, no more dead women.

"I've called for an ambulance Will, they'll be here soon. I just need you to stay with me. Please, _stay with me, Will_."

There was a desperation in Hannibal's voice that Will had never heard before. It seemed impossible that only an hour before, they had been laughing together in Will's car. For the first time in a long time, Will had considered domesticity. He had considered what a life with Hannibal would be like. And for the first time _ever_ , he had wanted that life. He still did.

He just wondered if he would actually get that life.

"'Annibal," Will mumbled, his hand fluttering weakly over where Hannibal's hands were trying to stop him from bleeding out.  
Will didn't want to bleed out. He didn't want to leave Hannibal. He didn't want to die.

"It's alright, Will. You're with me, I've got you."

Hannibal placed a kiss to Will's temple. Will wished it was his lips.

The sound of sirens vaguely registered with him, but all he was really aware of was Hannibal. All he wanted to be aware of was Hannibal. If his last moments were with the man, in his arms, surrounded by his warmth...

It certainly wouldn't be a bad way to go, Will thought as his eyes closed.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I want to end it there, but I'm not sure if I should have Will live or die... Please leave comments about an outcome that you would like!


End file.
